


The Cards We're Dealt

by cydneybailey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherhood, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Winchester Brothers - Freeform, chestervelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydneybailey/pseuds/cydneybailey
Summary: Footsteps. Yelling. Gunshots.Follow Sam and Dean Winchester as they navigate through what Chuck has put before them. It's not just the monsters that are tough for the brothers. Sometimes it's  real people and the feelings they bring back.
Relationships: Chestervelle, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	The Cards We're Dealt

_Footsteps. Yelling. Gunshots._

All familiar sounds on a ghoul hunt. Except the thud against the floor as my body hits the concrete is a bit of a recent development. Helloooo forties. Sam on the other hand, in all his youthful glory, decided it would be best if he took the widower and his kids upstairs and protected them from what was about to go down. No one wants to be killed by their late mom...or see their wife die...again.

"Ah the great Dean Winchester...I've heard stories about you and your shaggy-haired little brother - escaping the grave time after time, being possessed by archangels. Hey, even I'll admit, I'm pretty well beneath the Winchester brothers' pay grade at this point. You must feel pretty bad about yourself knowing your perfect batting record with death is gonna get butchered by a ghoul."

Why every bottom dwelling nasty and their mother feels the need to recount me and Sam's greatest hits before they attempt to kill us, I will never understand. But what the hell? I'd entertain this monster's spiel as long as it gave me time to regain my position and locate the good ol' fashioned, get-er-done machete that had clattered a few feet away from me when I got spinebustered.

As she looked confidently out the basement window at the black sky, I fired back, "Your level of concern is touching, really," I said with a slight chuckle. "I honestly appreciate the recognition." I let the words drawl out of my mouth, giving me time to slide the machete closer with the tip of my boot. I swiftly grabbed the hilt and concealed it behind my back. She may be under the impression she's winning, but this is my ballgame and my rules. I continued, "But I guess you haven't paid much attention to those stories... because if you did, I'd like to think you'd be shakin' in those ugly ass cockroach stompers you've got on there."

She shot me a rotted tooth, shit-eating grin. Mrs. Drewsky might have been a decent looking lady before she bit the dust, but for Mr. Drewsky's sake, I hope this ghoul wasn't doing her justice. Mrs. Ghoul-Drewsky knelt down directly in front of my face and sprawled her, no, _its_ , corpse-like hand against my cheek. I was disgusted by the feeling of its fingernails against my skin, not to mention, the god-awful stench this bitch was emitting.

"Oh Dean, sweetie, if looks could kill, you might have come out on top, but unfortunately - "

THWACK! Ah, decisively my favorite ghoul hunt sound: a decapitated head hitting the ground. Still got it!

I called for Sam to come downstairs, letting him know I was all good and that the job was done. I knew he didn't like leaving me to go up against something on my own, and I'd feel the same vice versa, but I'm glad we could keep the Drewskys, especially the little guys, from witnessing that. They might grow up without their mom, but at least they wouldn't grow up like me and Sam.

I let Sam give his little sorry-for-your-loss-and-here's-our-number-if-you-need-us-again speech as I hosed the blood spatter off my face with a hose outside. We did good here.

* * * 

"Dean, let me drive home so you can get some shut-eye."

"Nah I'm driving, Sammy. You're the one who needs the rest." Sam gave me his signature straight faced, panties in a wad, look.

"It's a five-hour trip, you drove the whole way here, you just went at it with a ghoul, by _yourself_ , _and_ , it's the middle of the freakin' night, Dean!" Hmm, hard to argue with the facts, but his eyes were dark, and he was grumpy; Sam hadn't slept decently in days.

"Don't get pissy and just get in the damn car please."

We're both grown men but somehow my big brother voice still seems to get through to Sam. Or maybe he realized I know him too well to think that he's doing just fine. It's true what Mrs. Ghoul-Drewsky said; we'd been through more than the freakin' Avengers could survive. You'd think that'd give us confidence for what's coming but beating God at quite literally his own game...I don't know. I remember when our biggest problem was killing the demon that got Mom, but facing Chuck, or God, or whoever the hell he is - this is as big as it gets. It's not that I'm entirely sure we can't find a way to defeat him. I'm just worried about what it's gonna cost us.

The ride home had been pretty silent so far. Sam was refusing to fall asleep just to spite me. Stubborn ass. Soft rock always seems to knock him right out, so I turned the radio on and scanned for any signs of Billy Joel or Elton John. I'd run into The Eagles if I was lucky.

_"And even as I wonder, I'm keepin' you in sight. You're a candle in the window on a cold dark winter's night."_

I listened for a moment to the familiar REO Speedwagon song, but I quickly clicked it off. I'm not a sensitive guy, trust me, but some songs just bring back memories I don't care to confront. I've got other things to worry about - like what the hell I'm gonna do about Sam's connection to Chuck and whatever it means. I may worry about my little brother pretty often, but this is the real life, "and then there was light," actual _God_ we're dealing with!

"Don't think I don't know why you turn the radio off every time Can't Fight This Feeling comes on. I know who it makes you think of." Three hours into this drive and now he decides to speak. Great. "And listen, I'm not trying to give your grief a time frame, ok, but I know at this point all you're feeling is guilt... No one in heaven or on this Earth thinks you got Jo Harvelle killed besides yourself, Dean."

Leave it to Sam to say something completely valid and reasonable to get me in a bad mood. No matter how hard he tries, there's no way him, or anyone else for that matter, is gonna be able to talk me out of something I feel responsible for. And we know that from experience. That damn Egyptian god, Osiris, from back in 2012 really didn't have to out my self-loathing to my brother and Jo's ghost but, ya know, Winchester's luck I guess.

"You telling me that isn't gonna make a damn difference and you know it. Man, I'm too tired to have this conversation with you and frankly, I don't care to ever discuss it. I don't need you to tell me how to handle my own guilt."

"You drown yourself in it, Dean. That and alcohol."

Damn. Ok. I was quiet. My brow furrowed as I glared at the endless miles of empty highway ahead of us. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe I do harp on my own mistakes too long. You can't be in this business and not lose people you care about. But it just feels like if I could have done something in any other way, handled something smarter, then all of our friends wouldn't be dead.

Sam must have known he hit a nerve with his last remark by the look on my face. Regarding my freakin' personal baggage and drinking habits, he didn't push anymore, but he sure as hell didn't shut up either.

"It was 10 years ago today."

"Yeah, Sammy I know."

It had been a whole _decade_ since Jo and Ellen died. Not a fun thing to reminisce about, but I knew Sam was just trying to be a good brother. I didn't want to think about our friends sacrificing themselves for us. I didn't want to think about Jo's face, pale from all the blood loss, in my hands... or the way her lips were cold when I kissed them. And I sure as hell didn't want to think about the explosion that killed them just to allow us to escape. As rough as the memories are, our minds on anything but Chuck sounded okay to me. I expected him to spout off about how he misses stopping at the Roadhouse every now and then or about how hellhounds are real dicks, but he was quiet for a minute.

"Ya wanna know something, Dean?"

Surprised by the change in tempo, I turned to my brother and smirked.

"Enlighten me, college boy."

Sam laughed. It was a good sound to hear coming from him.

"You've been teasing me about Eileen ever since she's been back, and I, I-..." He stuttered for a second, smiling at his own sheepishness as his cheeks turned bright red. "But I think you may be right about her. She's incredibly smart, she makes me laugh, she's a hunter herself, and... uh, she is, as you've already managed to mention...hot."

I couldn't help but cackle at Sam's boyish admittance.

"Ahh that's my boy, Sammy! But I, uh, do hope you're a little smoother when you talk to Eileen because I'm pretty sure you just gave me secondhand embarrassment." Good on him for finally realizing Eileen is a perfect match but I'm his older brother. Gotta keep him humble!

Sam grinned and jokingly socked me on the arm. For just a second, he looked like a kid again, and I was grateful for it. We may have gone through all this shit side by side, but he wasn't an exception to the rule. Maybe Chuck controls every little detail... but maybe he doesn't. And if that's the case, and I had played the cards I was dealt differently, maybe Sam would sleep well at night... and not have to worry about whether the girl he likes is a hunter or not.

Sam let out a longwinded sigh and laid his head back against the seat and door frame. Baby might not be the most comfortable to sleep upright in, but Sam seemingly managed. I clicked the radio on again, hoping for something that didn't have a piss poor memory to go along with it.

_"On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair."_

No wonder Bob Seger was such good friends with Glenn Frey. He helped write songs like Hotel California. I was softly beating my thumb on the steering wheel as the song continued and admiring Don Henley on the drums when Sam, half asleep, grumbled, "Jo could've been your Eileen." His words hit heavily. I didn't respond, just kept driving.

_"There she stood in the doorway; I heard the mission bell. And I was thinking to myself 'This could be Heaven, or this could be Hell.'"_

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you want the next chapter!:)


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